


She’s Too Young

by Burning_up_inside



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, De-Aged Iris West, Dry Humping, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Older Barry Allen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_up_inside/pseuds/Burning_up_inside
Summary: “Hey.” A soft voice says that he almost doesn’t recognize,  Barry has to creak his head up from the neck divot he’d made in the couch where he was watching the ceiling swirl in mild interest.And it’s Iris. Or someone who looks like her, because Iris, the one he knows anyway, is a little kid. But, this Iris is wearing makeup, and a dress that she’s definitely too young for.“Hey?” He laughs, perplexed.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Wally West, Barry Allen/Iris West
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	She’s Too Young

**Author's Note:**

> Writing a much longer Barry and Iris fic and it’s been kicking my ass so I wrote this in the meantime.
> 
> //////////EDIT//////////
> 
> too make this story work because I’m a crazy person and decided to continue it his graduation would be exactly 6 months after the first chapter!!

Barry doesn’t go to parties (mostly because he doesn’t get invited to any besides the ones Wally throws and Wally will use any excuse to throw one including the one time Barry got arrested, Wally has been waging a rampage against his father who spent more time at work than he ever has with his family, this war has gone on for as long as Barry could remember and it fed through a channel of std fests in the family room).

He doesn’t even really like alcohol, the burn never gets better, when you’re swallowing fire. He also can’t stand most of the kids that go to his school, luckily he’s graduating in June, where he lives in Central City is not that much different from a small town, a suburb is a suburb and everyone knows everybody’s business, it’s exhausting.

Watching the debased efforts of teenage boys piledriving at girls they’ve known since kindergarten who don’t look interested or even comfortable, is nauseating at the least, or worse yet teenage girls primping and pawing and showing off to the lug nuts they’ve known since kindergarten, grinding against them while the boys stare with slack jaws. Not that he has the faintest idea how to interact with women, he hit puberty too late, and has been the unofficial martyr for his graduating class since his dad stuck a knife through his mom's heart.

Against Barry’s best efforts Wally spends an inordinate amount of time inviting him to parties he throws, and **_sure_** Wally and him are friends, but they aren’t really close. Barry and Wally just have been clinging onto a concept of them as children that they can’t seem to let go of, Barry knew Joe had insisted on Wally being in his life, not that Wally gave much thought to what Joe said, but it was a promise he kept, lugging Barry around for as long as Barry could remember. In reality though getting placed in a boys home just outside of town from the time you're in elementary school up until highschool because no one wanted to adopt a 10 year old with enough trauma to get them on Dr.Phil does a lot to deter you from talking to anyone ever. 

But, Barry is sporting a black eye and a little anger under his fingertips. If he can give alcohol any credit, it’s that when he’s drunk he doesn’t think about anything.

———————

The swimming purple light, a fuschia nightmare cascading around the size and shape of teenagers he has nothing in common with, a wet humidity sticking to his skin and under his clothes. Music vibrates under his feet into the base of his brain. Red and blue tints the sallow faces of the dredges swimming slowly through the party, the last of the kids who haven’t paired up to kiss to the melancholic music at the end of the night, orbiting each other like peaking planets and the cornerstone of exploding dwarf stars. Anxious in their loneliness while Barry basks in his, laying six feet deep in the old brown plush of Wallys house. 

It’s achingly familiar, annoyingly so. It feels so much like a slap in the face that this place was preserved, an ancient relic in the tried sad story of Barry Allen : orphan, loser, secret crybaby. How dare this piece of his past not be changed, not be destroyed or ransacked like everything else. 

He’s drunk.

Drunk in the way that he’s looking for a fight, balling up his fist over and over to feel the light ache in them from his ‘fight‘. It makes the flashing lights putter and spin around his eyes, contracting into starlight, like little abrasions in his skull. 

The music is a little quieter, intentionally so. It has to be almost two in the morning and a lot of people have already left but Barry is definitely going to be in trouble when he leaves so he’d rather die than go “home”. The ache in his hand isn’t as distracting as the punching pain in his head that won’t leave, barely muddied by the fourth beer in his hand. 

“Hey.” A soft voice says that he almost doesn’t recognize, Barry has to creak his head up from the neck divot he’d made in the couch where he was watching the ceiling swirl in mild interest.

And it’s Iris. Or someone who looks like her, because Iris, the one he knows anyway, is a little kid. But, this Iris is wearing makeup, and a dress that she’s definitely too young for.

“Hey?” He laughs, perplexed. 

“Hi.” She says almost like a confirmation, her tone pitching higher, wringing her fingers into the patterned silk slip. 

“You said that already.” He smiles, and he doesn’t even do it consciously, but this nervous little ball of energy; a kid he just last week bought ice cream for, who pretends not to follow him around when Wally let’s her infringe on their less illegal activities, clinging to him for some reason, it felt that Iris was the last real vestige left in his sordid story and here she was tampering with its legacy. 

“Hey, one second.” Barry hears behind him, louder than the music or the thump in his head, he knows it’s Wally before he can come into his line of view.

“Iris, what the hell are you doing downstairs? Jesus wh— what the hell are you wearing… is that fucking makeup?”

Wally whisper-yells at her over Barry’s head. Placing his hot hands on Barry’s shoulders over the back side of the couch. “It’s 1 o'clock in the morning, go upstairs and go change, you look ridiculous.” He’s at least a little tipsy, the way his words congeal into a living mess, sober he would never curse at Iris. Wally and Iris start arguing through Barry, who sinks further into the couch only hearing the filtered noise like the bass in the floor. Trapped here under Wally's hands made him think about why they were even friends.

Wally spent a lot of time in middle school riding on the coattails of ‘Barry’s popularity’, much to say that Barry started getting into fights and had become infamous for it. It was new, the fighting, he was honestly pretty shy up until then, but that year Derek moved into his block at “Garrison Terry’s Boys Home”. Derek beat a lot of fear out of Barry that year, It was like he was a conduit to it, pumping out anguish that was a vague silhouette of the boy who was so much bigger than him, louder, tougher, angrier. 

He packed it up inside like a dormant volcano and spewed his magma, his fiery pain onto kids who called him _lightning_. Sometimes he hated Wally for it, placing Barry as bodyguard when his only shield was tears he hadn’t shed. But Barry was lonely, and so he latched onto him, let Wally use him, so at least he could pretend to be okay.

All to say that much like Wally, Iris was another ever-present monolith in his life. Quizzical and mature, four years younger than Wally and Barry. So if Iris was anything, she was a little kid. Always had been a snot-nosed baby chasing them around with grubby fingers and a desire to be wrapped up in her brother like she was her father. Wally loves Iris, it makes Barry uncomfortable sometimes, when he sits outside her school waiting with Wally to pick her up, it makes him uncomfortable to watch people care about each other openly. Wally does though, always greeting her with a smile, maybe a spin. 

She pretends to hate it, or she actually does, Barry was never sure. She had become very focused on being treated like an “adult” recently. Demanded in the way 14 year olds demand things, with a pout. 

“Yeah, well. I can still tell dad.” Iris says with crossed arms, as Barry zones back in. The music and colorful strobing lights both even lower now, a violet blue shadowing everything and everyone. 

“You wouldn’t.” (Wally with some insane amount of luck had been promised a car because he got accepted to Central City University, the hang up was that he couldn’t through any parties, but Joe was in Starling for a couple days for a case and Wally had an addiction)

“Do you wanna make that bet?” 

“Ughhhhhhh.” Wally groans, bunching his hands into Barry’s shoulders.

“Ow dude.” Barry says bucking his shoulders up.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Wally says peering a little further over the couch to look at him, petting his shoulder faintly.

“Iris, whatever, stay down here if you want, but if you touch any alcohol, I’m going upstairs and stealing and hiding every single one of your phone chargers.” 

Barry looks up at him quickly and tries to hide a giggle. 

“I don’t want you to leave this couch okay, I don’t vet all of the kids who come to these things and believe or not men are creeps, so please be easy on your big brother and stay where me or Barry can see you.” 

Barry can’t see it but he knows Wally’s smiling one of those purposefully awkward stretched smiles.

“Okay.” She says quietly and quickly, seemingly embarrassed to concede 

“Okay?” Wally says still hovering over Barry. Excitement in his tone.

“Okay.” She says definitely annoyed now. 

“Okayyyyyy.” Wally says backing up off the couch, so Barry can’t feel the heat he’s wafting off of him. He laughs. 

“I got a girl that I need to tend to. So, Barry if you could so kindly watch my precious little sister, I’d be eternally grateful.” Wally says in a mocking tone. 

“Yeah, whatever man.” And if Barry wasn’t drunk before this conversation, he’s drunk in earnest his beer emptied from his nervous little sips.

The couch dips mildly as Iris sits after what looks like a moment of deliberate mishandling of her body, awkward and misshapen in the way that everyone is when they are 14. Young enough that being a kid is intrinsically wrapped around your personality but that newfound desire to be anything but. 

She slides in closer to him after a couple beats of silence, seemingly swaying her body to the beat in the music, inching alongside the couch, a steady dance Barry couldn’t help but notice.

Iris was always a bit of a golden lotus, a four leaf clover in the human department. Different in that she'd somehow grown up even faster than Barry, who had never really been a kid. Iris was just self assured, excitable and dignified way too young.

Time doesn’t pass when you're drunk or tipsy or whatever, you just blink and it capsizes like cresting waves, at least for Barry because suddenly Iris is pressed right alongside him, and it’s not unfamiliar, because another thing about Iris is how much comfort to her means to touch. To console her in the slightest she needs a shoulder to lean on. So her tiny little frame isn’t unfamiliar under him, reminiscent of movie nights, but the gauzy little slip sliding against his arm is new, new and strikingly uncomfortable. 

It was just one of the increasingly uncomfortable things to do with Iris, Recently just having conversations with her was making him nervous because he was oblivious usually but he wasn’t oblivious to the lack of subtlety that Iris perused with the way she had started talking to him, the way she was starting to act around him, like she wanted him to notice her. Wally had noticed too, would poke fun about it even, saying stupid things Barry pretended not to hear, but it was obvious, she had a stupid schoolgirl fascination, but he thought she was smarter than this, Barry didn’t even entertain the notion when Wally spoke about it, and Wally always had a slight edge to his voice, always acted like they were in competition and the adoration of his younger sister apparently put Barry a level higher in whatever twisted way that Wally thought things.

But, here right now with the constellation of swirling lights pooling at the base of his skull, the shots and the beer all at the crook of his throat. There was Iris, unmistakably her, not a woman, (not like he’d ever done anything with a woman in general). It was a girl, The coconut something or other she keeps in her hair, burrowing under his skin, a 14 year old girl. He felt fucking nauseous.

“Barry?” Iris says like she’d been talking to him for a while and he wasn’t listening.

“Yeah, sorry.. What were you saying?” Barry says locked into each sensation on his buried arm, crushed between them. The dim lights and the light music, providing an ambiance that made the contact he had on her skin white hot.

“About school, like if you were planning to move away after graduation, or staying like Wally.” She says, her little doe eyed stare up at him. 

“Uhmmmm? I hadn’t really thought about it, I mean I applied to places but it was never serious, they make everyone go to that uh —college counselor and fill stuff out.”

“Barry,” she says as if exasperated. “Everyone knows you're smart, my dad knows it, even Wally talks about it all the time, sometimes I think he’s like… jealous or something.” Iris says, an affirming nod to herself, “I think you're smart, I think you could get into any college you wanted.” She whispers.

Barry’s stomach twists further, he moves to pull his arm from between them, “Oh my god am I on your arm?” She says flustered, laughing. 

Barry does a quick smile pulling it from between them, his arm sticky with its own sheen of nervous sweat under his tattered hoodie. He slings his arm over the top of the couch and it’s a mistake the second he does it, because Iris who had scooted away and allowed him a slice of air to breathe, settled even deeper into the nook he created.

“Iri-” It’s nothing but a failed effort because Wally distracts them both walking around the couch towards them. “Barry, my main man…” Wally says with that dopey smile, eyes crossed and closed, half steeped in alcohol. “This is Linda, Everybody meet Linda, Linda meet everybody.” A gorgeous girl with stiff black hair that reached past her shoulders and skin tight clothes that it was obvious she didn’t plan to wear for a long time ”We are.... going upstairs,” Wally gestures between them both, obvious in his efforts to show off. “If I’m not back down make sure no one breaks anything. Oh- and Iris don’t come upstairs for at least… oh I don’t know— An hour.” He says looking at the girl, And they’re both smashed, this Linda person might be more sober than Wally. Wally chances a wink, and he does not make it. But then he’s around the side of the couch, heading behind Barry and Iris, who both turn in different arrays of interest as he disappears upstairs. 

“I hate it when he drinks, he gets so obnoxious.” Iris says after a beat, “And what was the wink thing, does he think I don’t know what he’s gonna do up there.” Barry feels the warmth of her neck through the fabric of his sweater, it’s bleeding through and it hurts like a wound.

He laughs, an uncomfortable one, awkward because he was now living in a universe where Iris knows what sex is and he acknowledged it

“Everybody wants to treat me like I’m some kid, especially Wally. It’s so stupid, I’m like definitely more mature than him anyway.”

“Yeah probably.” He laughs, trying to force his spine to relax as it almost arches off the couch. 

“You’re a lot more mature than Wally.” She says and quiets down, and for a long while she stops looking at him, the switching colored lights an inch close to a steady oppressive dark, he can barely hear the music. The steady thump of his heart, clouds his brain. 

She starts playing with the hand hanging over her shoulder, running her tiny slender finger over the cuts on his knuckles, she's too close and he’s so drunk.

“How’d you get these?” She says, looking up at him again, interested, concerned.

“Fighting.” 

She hums an assertion, obvious by the way her face twists up that she doesn’t like it, and it strikes him weirdly, that he doesn’t like that look.

“He deserved it.”

She does that little hum again. It locks up in his chest so sickeningly. Looping her little fingers over his, playing with him absently.

“Well, what would you do if you saw some guy whose job it is to protect children going out of his way to pick on a bunch of little kids.” Barry says turning towards her, mad at the man, mad at his life, mad that Iris couldn’t see it, and even more upset that he was _this_ upset about it. He turned toward her and she was enveloped in him. She dropped his fingers, and looked at him

“I didn’t say anything Barry.” Iris sounds wise and older than her years like always. 

And he deflates, that drunk edge lilting off his tongue and in the delay in his movements.

He realizes suddenly how wrapped up in this he is. Because he didn't notice the living room emptying out some more, didn’t notice the music was off as whoever had their phone connected took it away with them. Didn't notice that they were practically alone save for a couple people passed out on the ground and others loitering outside, stumbling their way back home, didn’t notice anything but this war he was fighting alone.

Had he become this lonely? Why was this minuscule mite of attention so overbearing? She wasn’t even doing anything. So how come just his closest friend's little sister playing with his fingers makes him so nervous, like any second he would be caught in the act. She was only just smushed in his side but it was one o’clock in the morning, in the dark and it felt like she was asking him in wandering hands to feel something. 

It was quiet for a long time after that, just sitting there and breathing, trying to control his body so he seemed normal, but he could feel everything, each shift of her body, every breath she took, it was consuming him.

Her free hand lays limp on her lap and he watched it like the serpent in the garden of eden, slithering minutely from her lap into his space, playing first with the rip at the apex of his knee, dropping his hand as if his pointed disinterest in it bored her, she’s running her fingers through the tattered fabric, rubbing her fingers through the coarse hair, scratching her nails slowly without purpose, just making contact, mindless and overwhelming.

Barry pushes further into the arm of the couch, back away from the view he had now gotten down her dress, as she tipped her head deeper in his chest, his eyes had a straight shot view down. A pink bra, cotton, obviously for a kid, with a neat little clasp in the front. Barely there cleavage and he averts his eyes like he had been burned, forcing himself to look at the fireplace in front of him, trying to put his head somewhere his body wasn’t.

She kept with that distracting swirling on his knee, and if this was like a year ago, or if he was more sober his heart wouldn’t be so far up his throat. Because Iris' admiration and her love isn’t new, but this feeling, like they’re building up to something, and he isn’t doing anything to stop it, isn’t telling her no.

She turns further into him like she’s cold, her head right under his chin, her face pressed right up against his heart, Her left arm smashed between them. It begs him to look down over her again, her legs folded up on the couch next to him, her feet not touching the ground. The room is almost pitch black, and quiet. Completely. No noise that Barry can hear besides his own breath and hers.

“Your heartbeat is so loud.” She says softly against his chest, a barely audible whisper that he can hear like firecrackers the way he’s tuned into her.

“Yeah.” He breathes.

She drags her invading little hand over the top of his knee, squeezing it like she’s playing a game in her head, dancing her lithe fingers on top of his thigh, pinching lightly and letting go. Barry grips the neck of his beer bottle harder. She pokes his leg over and over creating a rhythm, tracing circles into the worn denim. Unconsciously he spreads his legs wider. 

It’s so fucking hot, he’s sweating under his hoodie. He drowns in that coconut smell. He tries to not notice her hand moving where it shouldn’t, and he’s not hard or least he doesn’t want to be.

Because he’s too terrified to be hard. 

Too achingly guilty to be hard, 

too drunk to be hard, 

**_right_**?

But she drags the fronts of her nails at the top of his thigh, back and forth over and over, slow and then fast, fast and then slow. 

It’s electrifying, he wants to scream at her to stop, but he can’t let her know that he thinks what she’s doing is inappropriate, but god, with the little dress on and her hands, the way they move. 

He tries to think of every horrible thing he’s ever seen to get his dick to leave him alone.

Think of his Mom, the blood, his Father, Derek, ~~Iris~~ , Mom, Father, ~~Iris~~ , Derek, ~~Iris~~ , The lightning, ~~Iris, Iris, Iris~~.

She bullies at everything inside it’s brain and tears it out, his dick easily at half mast, so close to noticeable with his stupid old jeans being at least a size too small.

She notices, she has to notice. She acts like she doesn’t, but he can hear her breathing change, he can’t see her face and hasn't been able to in like 20 minutes because she buried it in his chest. But he can imagine the wide eyed little glazed look on her face as if she was standing right in front of him. 

She shifts back a little giving Barry a fresh overwhelming smell of coconut, and her hand moves up again, and she’s touching it now, on purpose. With intention, dragging the front of her nails over the head of his dick in his jeans, and Barry’s drags in a broken gasp and jerks noticeably.

“Iris. stop.” Barry says with pain in his throat and she moves off as if burned, pulls her head away but keeps her body in the little cocoon they made. 

“Sorry.. I’m- sorry.” She whispers, sucking him into this oxygen-less vacuum her voice, nothing but unvoiced trembling, shaking her head and shaking too, her hands and body vibrating. 

Silence, where Barry thinks about what he allowed to happen, a dutiful reflection as he looks at his feet.

“Barry, Please don’t be mad, I just- I thought that we- I don’t know…” she says it against his chest, can feel the vibration of her voice through his hoodie but she still worries that hand atop his thigh, slower now, feather light, like she’s daring him.

“Iris…”

“No, Barry you don’t get it okay…… I’m not- ugh.. I’m not some..” she takes a shaky wet breath and he can’t really see her face obscured but he way she hides it. She seems to continue her movements on purpose, the same daring touch, begging him, trying to make him forego all reason. “If you’re worried about Wally, I won’t tell him okay, he doesn’t even need to know and he’s too stupid to figure it out any way.”

“I-”

“And I- I really like you okay, like _like you like you_.”

A laugh he can’t contain shakes out of his chest, the absurdity of this desire that had gathered low down, pooling in his dick like a stop sign for a girl who was still using double likes to express romantics.

“Barry I…” she moves back off his chest, weariness in her tone like she was calming a spooked horse. She moves back so she can look at him, and finally takes that (amazing) offensive little hand with her.

“Iris, you’re 14.” He doesn’t know how he got here, when this growing uncomfortableness became lust that he had to temper down. He whispers it to her, begging not to be heard, the slow creaking of the house is their audience. The sprawled bodies witness to their conversation, all unpaying customers to the worst show imaginable. But by the look into her eyes he could tell that her truth wasn’t a real stamp of an end all be all, she couldn’t see that their history was the jury, judge and executioner.

“Barry I know how old I am.” Exasperation and longing in her pretty brown eyes, and she couldn’t know what she was doing to him, cause if she knew she wouldn’t be asking him to decide. Couldn’t be asking him to become this. 

“Well if you know that and you are as smart as I think you are then you know that we can’t..” he’s shaking he realizes, his heart is just about beating out of his chest.

But she starts to lean in now when he talks, adjusts her place in his side, pulling her feet up, curling her whole body into him, she stares up at him and it’s like she invites him into this sordid dance. She’s still iris, pretty like she’s always been, soft skin and round eyes but he doesn’t just see the baby fat in her cheeks, he looks at her lips, notices the curve in her hips under the light dress. He’s drunk, he can tell by the way he can’t see the consequences of this more than he can feel his lust. 

She looks at his eyes, and back again, and unfortunately he has been doing the same. Dancing around this desire but the game they played, and the dance they were strung up into was coming to a head and her headlong glance into his eyes had his stomach in knots.

“I want this.” She whispers.

“You want this?” His breath is labored 

“I want this.” She barely finishes her words.

 _She_ kisses **_him_** , and it’s a mistake the second she touches his lips in the same way that it’s perfect and the best thing he can ever remember feeling.

Warm trembling lips meet his, soft and plush with juvenile inexperience, fervent and forgiving. She catches his lips in a labored breath, pushing her face into his, moving with him, and it’s evident she has no idea what’s she doing. (And Barry isn’t experienced either really but he’s done his fair share of drunk kissing) Awkward with her hands and crooked neck but she makes up for it in desire, writhing her body into him, closer than she has ever been. Carving a whole through his center in the shape of the light probing tongue that dances with his. 

Barry feels sick, with desire, with disgust. He is exorbitantly full of battling emotions, but he is occupied with the feel of the slight curves he can feel through the light gauze of her dress, warm like he’s touching skin. Curves a hand over her lower back and if he had his hand on the other side he was sure they could touch, but his hand is cupping her jaw, keeping her close to him their breaths intermingling while he runs his tongue over her bottom lip, really kissing her, searching for her desire in his soft movements, he moves away from her mouth to touch light feathery kisses down her jaw and it’s like her neck goes slack in his hand, offering herself so completely it’s makes his dick ache against his zipper. He finally gets a chance to run a hand down the back of her thigh as she’s practically laying on his front, it’s the first time he’s touched her skin all night and it’s heady, like the air around them turns up a thousand degrees, and iris moans like his touch burns.

He’s sucking softly into the skin of her neck for short seconds and worrying the skin with his teeth just to hear the way she moaned in his ear, careful not to leave a mark, but toying with the overwhelming desire to make her his just as much as wally, just as much as Joe. It’s the way she had begun to say his name, shy pleading in her voice, wanting baked so firmly into the way she had begun grinding herself into his thigh. He makes an effort to slow her desperate grinding because she was shaking and so was he, like there was no way to contain everything they felt. 

She gripped around his waist, capturing a chunk of his sweater between her fingers, it was leverage or reprieve.

Her touch was magic, in the way it felt like he was giving a piece of his soul to feel it, the drag of her cotton panties over the threadbare denim of his jeans, it was mind numbing watching her work for her pleasure on him. So enveloped in it, hot breath against the shell of his ear.

“Barry, yo-u.. oh god. I-” 

“What do you want me to do.”

“Oh my god.. please- fu- I don’t know, I don’t know. Please- I just need you to— I need you to do something.” Breathing lengthwise in his ear, his dick practically the only thing full of blood. 

He leans her head back, keeping his neck around her throat and tipping it back to see her eyes, her lips rubbed raw and red where she had begun biting it to keep quiet. 

“You are so beautiful.” And he has never meant anything the way he meant this. Couldn’t find a word that could describe it the way he wanted to, wanted to scream it from the rooftops, into her soul, scar it into his chest. She was so beautiful, untouched. Innocent in a way he doesn’t think he ever was. He felt clean, touching her. Like she was absolving and transcribing his sins. It was unlike anything. He could spend forever chasing the feeling between her lips, it was somewhere he could never leave. She batted her eyes away from his stare, nervous, bashful, beautiful.

And she hadn’t ceased her discreet grinding, minuscule now. But then Barry’s pulling her onto his lap, so she can feel him, feel all of him. Feel the way he aches for her and it makes him jolt. The outline of her most intimate parts, lined up against him. She was all wet heat, he could feel it even between the denim.

He wanted to be inside, so suddenly he wanted to be able to pin her down to the edges of the couch and hear her say his name, scream it like it’s the only name she’s ever known, he wanted to fuck anything out of her peripheral. He wanted her to be his because nothing else was, wanted to carve her from the inside out with his dick, force her innocence into his lungs so he could breath it like oxygen.

Instead he keeps that hand around her neck, a light finger at the edge of her jaw, his thumb right over her bottom lip keeps her head steady so he can stare into her eyes. Her mouth agape as he pushes her down onto his erection through their clothes with the hand on her hip. Grinds up into her challenging thrusts.

He fucks her, the closest way he can. Pulls her down over and over the dick straining in his jeans. staring in her eyes, hooking a thumb into her mouth. And she’s got this glazed look about her, serene. Her pupils stretched to the outer corners, drunk on this, drunk on him. He can’t stop watching the way her eyes screw up tight, obsessive in the way she moves her lips around his fingers. She keeps her hands on his chest, trying to ground herself. 

He tries to be quiet but these little grunts force themselves past his lips, wanting to be inside her overcoming him. He almost drowns on it, imagining the pink plush of her untouched body. It makes him sick again, flushing his stomach inside out how much he wants it. Still she moved with him, bringing her body down over and over, wetting the front of his jeans, slamming over him, wet gasps like she’s on the edge of tears how bad she wants it.

“Barry.. I-, oh my god— Barry, I’m gonna- it feels.. I c-can’t”

“Iris—” Barry was gonna cum, didn’t wanna finish because he wanted this image of Iris to exist forever, the feeling of her pressed against him to last forever, wanted the wanton look to stay plastered on her face until he could tattoo it to his eyelids. 

She leans forward now, as Barry has forgone the hand around her throat and put them both around her waist in order to slam her down against him, she leans forward and kisses him, practically just breathing against his lips, but alongside it she begs him, for nothing and everything, she asks him a question he can’t answer, she breathes her lust into his lips into his lungs and right then and there she’s coming with his lips to hers.

“Barry- goood oh my god.. i-i… thank you, thank you.” Jerking against him, he hasn’t finished yet but she doesn’t stop dragging her lips over the head of his dick that’s screaming at him for release, and then she clenches her thighs around his and his eyes are blacking out behind his skull.

When he can breathe again she’s peppering kisses down his jaw, touching them down over his neck in absent minded want. Then she’s kissing him deep and rich enough that he feels like he’s melting, threading the pads of his fingers over her face again, reaching in. Tonguing her mouth, her bottom lip sucked between his, he bites it and she backs off giggling.

“What was that for.” She leaned back with a smile on her face. 

“I just wanted to.” He says, abated. Sweat cooling under his hoodie. Cum drying to the front of his boxers, sticky against his upper thigh. 

He stares at her a second longer, an image of her when she was 12 years old pops into his head, when she had sat on his lap crying about a butterfly that had a broken wing, upset that Joe said it wasn’t gonna live much longer, and killed it after Iris had brought it to him.

Wally and him were shithead sixteen year olds who were at the same park with Iris and Joe but they were getting high behind the giant oak at the edge of the park. Surely to get caught for smelling like weed but Wally was always looking for a chance to piss off his dad. Barry didn’t see Iris until she was practically on top of him crying into his shoulder, blubbering about something that she wasn’t saying clearly. Wally looked at him, with bloodshot eyes and a curious smile and shrugged his shoulders.

Then she climbed into his lap, and she was definitely too old for it lately, especially since Barry wasn’t family but she sat up against him and she cried, didn’t think once about going to Wally it seemed. 

Barry sat there in near dark, looking into Iris’ eyes and suddenly all he could see was that 12 year old girl, who was crying about a butterfly. His blood went ice cold.

The last of his orgasm weaned out of him and he could see so clearly how much of a kid she was. He pushes her off roughly, jerking her off his body. A wave of nausea roiling up his throat, vomit pooling where the alcohol used to be. 

“I have to- uh— I have to go. I have to get out of here.” Barry swallows, he speaks at a soft whisper, a reverent one, seeing a melded mash of her at 7 learning to ride a bike, and movie nights when she was 10, he sees them alongside the face she makes when she cums and it almost doubles him over in self disgust. He doesn’t even toss a cursory glance back towards the couch that he had shot up off, the cum slathered in jeans a sticky nightmare of a reminder of what he’d just done, what he had allowed himself to do.

“Wait Barry what? What are you doing, what are you talking about?” Iris says and he can hear her stand up off the couch, her voice still a whisper.

He doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t wanna spectate his carnage. He can hear the shake in her voice.

“I can’t be here right now.” He says already walking towards the foyer, the floor a minefield of conked out teenagers, he navigates past them towards his overcoat hanging on the hook on the coat rack in front of the door.

“Barry stop! Look at me! Why are you doing this!”

She’s raising her voice now properly, they had been speaking in a barely there whisper for so much of the night, to encase their transgressions, hearing her full voice made his heart jolt with fear. Her hand is on his upper arm suddenly, while he is halfway through putting his coat on.

She forces him to turn, and there are tears at the corners of her eyes, glazed in a different way than earlier.

“Why are you doing this? We- we just— yaknow… you can't just leave.” She begs him, her fingernails digging into his arm, not the seductive little things they used to be. A warning now.

“I don’t know why I thought this would be okay, I wasn’t fucking thinking. I can’t be here, I can’t do this.” 

“Barry what do you mean?.. You didn’t do anything I didn’t wanna do okay. I told you I wanted it.”

“Iris that's not the point, I just— I shouldn’t have…”

Barry jerks his arm out of her grip, pulls his overcoat all the way on, “I’m sorry... okay.” He pulls the door open, and he looks behind him, Iris with her hair fussed and her lips puffy and raw, the gauzy little slip bunched up towards her hips and one strap hanging off her shoulder, eyeliner smudged against her skin, a two wet rims of her doe eyes. A lone tear trails down her face, and Barry can’t help that fiery pain in his throat from wanting to cry to surface.

“ _I’m sorry_.” He says again.

He walks out into the late night air, the door shutting behind him, a stray tear runs down his face and he wipes it away derisively before stalking down the pitch black street.

**Author's Note:**

> !Marked dubious consent because minors ethically cannot give consent to adults for sexual acts!
> 
> Iris is 14!! Barry and Wally are both 18
> 
> Hope u like it! Leave a comment!!!


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